The Game Afoot (ch. 03)

All characters are 18 years of age or older. Copyright 2024. All rights reserved.

Welcome to the little college town of Ballister; I hope you enjoy your stay. This is a multi-part serial. If you've arrived at this part without reading the ones before (and you care about plot), you may wish to begin at the first chapter.

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Sam woke the next morning to the sound of the front door slamming. She groaned and rolled to sit on the edge of her bed. A men's polo was conspicuously draped across her desk chair. Ugh. What a night. The door slammed again, so Sam went downstairs to see what was going on.

"You're up," her mom said. "I thought I was going to have to wake you. Good party?"

Sam nodded, too sleepy to make a full report. She also didn't want her mother worrying about her new college social life. The front door slammed yet again as her mom shuttled another box to the car. Her mom always insisted the front door remain closed for fear Hindenburg might wander out. Sam doubted Hindy, who at that moment was lazing on the living room floor in a shaft of sunlight, cared to do much wandering. She stared blankly at the door for a moment, then turned toward the kitchen.

"You remember you'll have to close tonight, right?" her mom called from the front room. "It'll be late when I get home, so go ahead and eat dinner."

Right. Her mom was headed north to check on some vendors for the store. Sam had not remembered, just as she'd not remembered that she'd made a date tonight with the hottest man in the world and that the two commitments were in conflict. After what had happened at the party, the date wasn't happening. Marco had witnessed one of the most embarrassing moments of her life. There was no way he would want to hang out with her in public.

Sam put the kettle on for tea. Hindy, roused by Sam's nearness to the pantry, threaded his way through her legs, eager for a treat. She wasn't about to deny him. Her mom slipped into the kitchen to give her a hug goodbye. After one final slam of the front door, the house went quiet. Sam stood dumbly at the counter listening to the soft rumble of the water warming on the stove. She pulled a couple eggs from the refrigerator. As she set to frying them, she became aware of a dull ache emanating from her scalp. Oh, right. The pink ostrich had pulled her hair.

Nope. She wouldn't spend any more time thinking about those people. She had hoped that college would be different from high school, but now she'd learned the truth. If anything, the social order was worse at Ballister College. Better to find out in her first week than to keep trying. Harumi was right. She should find people who liked what she liked.

It was hard, though, not to think of Kyle and Marco. The handsome, charming swimmer and the strong, gorgeous quarterback. What a pair. What had that bitchy stork called them? The two biggest studs. No, she wouldn't think about them, either. She'd been wrong about the party, so she was almost certainly wrong about them. They were playing a game: two guys competing over the new girl.

But...what if it wasn't a game? Kyle was beautiful and charming and seemingly interested in her life. Marco was huge and a little scary and the most exquisitely attractive human being alive. Well, that was probably an overstatement. Probably. And, she'd have more than a sore scalp this morning if he hadn't stepped in to help her. Marco had plucked Miranda off her as if she were one of the fried eggs Sam was lifting from the pan.

No, no, no. She had to remember who these people were, and who she was. Sam pulled a notebook from her bag before sitting down for her breakfast. She would make a list of what she needed to do for work and school, and that would take her mind off the two biggest studs...stop it, Sam!

***

"I'm already tired, and we have hours to go," said Sam, collapsing onto the bench in front of the employee lockers. Saturday at the Seventh Street Market was the busiest day, and this Saturday was no exception. She'd made an endless series of sandwiches at the deli counter and filled a never-ending supply of plastic containers with potato salad and coleslaw.

"Did you have lunch? You should eat something," Will said as he loaded a rack with trays of bread and buns. "It's a perk of working in a grocery store."

Sam grunted acknowledgment and rolled onto her back. She hadn't had time to eat lunch. Her eyes wandered aimlessly over the heating ducts crisscrossing the ceiling.

"Hey, how was the party?" Will asked.

"Horrible," Sam replied. She told Will a short version of her evening. By the end, her friend stood aghast, a loaf in each hand.

"She hit you?"

"Yeah, and tore my dress. Marco pulled her off me," Sam replied. "Oh god, Marco. I was supposed to go on a date with him this evening."

"This evening? But you're--. Did you tell him you're working?"

"I didn't have a chance."

"You should call Carl. He knows how to close. He can cover for you." Will set the loaves down and walked over to the employee phone list.

"He hates working on the weekend. I don't want to bother him."

"Come on, I can at least check."

"Will," Sam said, squeezing her friend's skinny forearm. He turned to her, phone receiver in one hand. "It isn't real. I'm just a big joke to them. A game. Get the new girl or whatever."

Will put the phone back. "That sucks."

"Yeah, well. I've got to get back up front."

"Okay," Will said, looking dubious.

"Don't call Carl."

"I won't," said Will, raising his hands in surrender.

"You never have enough of these low sodium crackers," the gray-haired woman complained. Sam didn't know her name, only that she came in Saturdays to buy every last box of low sodium Wheat Thins.

"They're a popular item," Sam lied, sweeping the fifth box across the barcode reader. The store sold its entire weekly allotment to one person.

"Could you pl--." The woman halted mid-sentence. Sam watched, puzzled, as the older woman's eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. Frowning, Sam turned around.

"You don't look ready to go to the movies," said Marco.

Holy fucking fuck. Evening light poured through the store's front windows and lit the big man like he was some immaculate conception emerged directly from heaven. Like he was a Michelangelo sculpture dropped improbably into a strip mall. Like he was a Greek god stepping down from his throne on Olympus to buy some low-sodium Wheat Thins.

He looked good and bad and so fucking good. He wore a dark leather jacket over a V-neck white tee. The cotton stretched across his powerful chest. His broad shoulders filled the jacket, and Sam had to swallow hard as her wicked mind inexplicably conjured an image of him busting through the seams. A dark leather belt emphasized his narrow waist, contrasting his gray jeans. He was a chiseled, stylish, well-muscled bad boy tonight, and she, Sam Telnor, nerd extraordinaire, was standing him up.

"I..." Sam began. Shit. She didn't know what to say. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to have found her pathetic and not bothered.

"Oh, I'll get this," Will said, appearing from nowhere. "You prefer paper bags, don't you, Mrs. Gentry?" Sam's friend practically shoved her from the small space behind the register.

Sam straightened her apron and walked over to Marco. She should be thinking furiously about what to say, but her mind had turned to sludge.

"Um, I--."

Sam stared at his way-too-gorgeous face. She didn't lose her train of thought; she was nowhere near a railroad. One corner of Marco's lips tipped upward and his awesome good looks became even more alluring. Sam shifted her eyes to his neck, but the swathe of smooth skin there was, yep, equally alluring. She looked a little lower, but the white cotton tee framed the swell of his thick chest muscles. More than alluring. God, she was really messing this up. Tears of frustration sprang to Sam's eyes, followed by shock and mortification. Was she going to cry, here in the store, right in front of him?

"I went by your house but no one was there, so I came here."

Sam still didn't know what to say. This was not supposed to be happening. Marco tried again.

"I'm sorry about last night," he said, his voice so deep and rich she shivered. He was offering her a way to explain. She took it.

"I didn't think, after that, you'd want to go with me."

Marco exhaled softly. "It wasn't your fault. I don't care what people like Miranda think. I want to go on a date with you."

His words drew her eyes back to his face. Marco wore an earnest expression, and his green eyes were so intense his gaze seemed to pin her head in place. She couldn't move. She could barely breathe.

"Can he cover for you?" Marco jerked a chin in Will's direction.

Sam didn't turn to look, but she could feel Will's eyes on her back. "I have to close tonight. Can we go another evening?"

A look of frustration passed across Marco's features, gone in a flash. Sam didn't know how to interpret that look. Was it that the hunky quarterback was rarely thwarted, or was there something else? The memory of Kyle ripping off his shirt came suddenly to Sam's mind. She was screwing up Marco's next move in his fun game messing with Sam's life.

"Hey, Sam," a familiar voice said from behind her. "Glad I could help you make your date."

Sam turned to find Carl helping Will load shopping bags into Mrs. Gentry's cart.

"What are you doing here? You hate working weekends."

"Your friend here offered to cover Monday night so I can watch the Bengals. Fair trade, I'd say."

Will gave Sam a sheepish smile.

Sam turned back to Marco, who was giving Will a nod of gratitude. The beautiful man turned back to her with an inviting smile that nearly made Sam's heart stop. There was no way out now.

"Could we go to my house first? I'm in my work clothes."

Marco shook his head. "Not if we want to make the movie. Don't worry about it. Theaters are dark." He reached forward and pulled the string tying her apron. The move was quick and deft and strangely intimate. Sam nearly choked.

"Let me put this away," Sam croaked. "I'll be--."

"Here," Will said, hand outstretched as he passed with Mrs. Gentry's cart. "I'll take it back."

Sam glared while handing over her apron. She was wearing an ancient pair of worn jeans and a dumpy green sweatshirt depicting a fish jumping out of a lake with the words, "It's all good in the woods." It was the perfect outfit for going on a date with the hottest man alive.

Marco stepped around her and held the door.

"Have fun," Carl called. Sam noted his bemused expression as she stepped onto the sidewalk.

***

The lobby of Ballister's only movie theater was noisy with patrons, and Sam felt decidedly self-conscious in her slapdash attire. At least they were seeing an earlier show; there were still a fair number of families with kids buying tickets to the Stuart Little sequel. The later screenings would bring more young people on dates.

Marco collected a lot of glances. Kids stared at him for his size. Moms stared at him for his looks. Dads stared at him because he was the quarterback of the Ballister College football team. He was royalty in this town. Many of the looks eventually landed on her, and Sam noted the confusion. They wondered who she was. Probably his anti-social sister. Maybe his crazy aunt? Definitely not his date.

Sam had managed the short drive from the market to the movie theater without further embarrassing herself. It had been difficult. Marco's car was almost as beautiful as he was, and the combination had made Sam's pulse race. Still, she'd managed to ask him a few questions about his first game (in two weeks) and his major (sociology) and where he grew up (Chicago, mostly).

They'd made it all the way to concessions without any obvious awkwardness. Then Sam recognized the employee behind the counter. Ashley was an acquaintance from high school and a couple years younger.

When Marco stepped to the counter, Ashley's eyes nearly fell out of her head. As Sam joined him, Ashley's head swiveled in Sam's direction, but her eyes remained on Marco for several seconds before they caught up with the rest of her face.

"You've gotta wait your turn," Ashley said to Sam. She'd always been blunt.

"She's with me," Marco said.

Ashley looked back to Marco. Her mouth opened and moved a couple times before sound came out. "You're kidding."

Sam saw another flash of frustration zip across Marco's perfect face. Sam didn't feel sorry for him. It was nice to know there were some downsides to being spectacularly attractive.

"Could we get two popcorns?" Marco moved on, peppering Ashley with a few more items. Sam watched the bill rise precipitously but decided to enjoy the novelty of ordering concessions. She was hungry, and Marco was paying for everything. If his car were any indication, he had some to spare. Whenever Sam and her mom went to the movies, they brought an extra large purse with bags of snacks.

Arms filled with popcorn and drinks, Sam followed Marco toward the theater. All the families turned right into Stuart Little. The remaining adults in front of them turned left into a screening of a new Vin Diesel flick. She and Marco took the next right, entering the last theater along the short hallway. Only a few other people appeared interested in "Blue Crush." Marco took a quick right after entering, picking a couple seats in the second to last row.

"This good?"

"Um," Sam looked at the sea of empty seats before them. "Don't you want to sit a little closer?"

"No," Marco said, simply.

"Okay." Sam sat down next to him.

No one else entered the theater before the previews began. Sam happily munched on her salty, buttery popcorn--such a treat--and watched as Harry Potter flew around Hogwarts in a magical car. She was excited for that one. The new James Bond movie looked a little silly. Sam turned her head slightly so she could quickly inspect Marco's face. Damn. He could be James Bond--simply switch the leather jacket for a tuxedo. Actually, her date was handsomer than Pierce Brosnan. Crazy.

It took less than five minutes for Sam to decide that "Blue Crush" was a terrible movie. The male surfers were nice to look at but no one should have given them lines. Soon, though, she had something else to think about. Marco put his arm around her. He had a really big arm, but he somehow slid it into place nonchalantly. Sam leaned into his shoulder. She'd thought the leather would be stiff, but it was soft and smelled good. She wished there wasn't a stiff plastic armrest separating their bodies.

The dumb-looking football player on screen asked the surfer chick for surfing lessons. The great-looking football player next to her leaned over and whispered in her ear.

"Sam."

She turned and found herself nose to nose with masculine perfection. Marco plucked the bag of popcorn from her grasp, tilted his head and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss started soft and coaxing, but Marco's lips quickly firmed and grew teasing. Sam's lips parted in response, and Marco's tongue slid across her teeth.

Only one other man, well boy really, had ever kissed Sam: Roger, her one high school boyfriend. They'd dated for a few months one spring before his family moved to Wisconsin. She and Roger had made out a few times, and Roger had even made it to second base. Roger had never kissed her like this, though. Marco was giving a master class in oral education.

His full lips and tongue were teasing and playful. A masculine scent mixed with the leather of his jacket to fill her nostrils. Sam opened her mouth and shivered as Marco's tongue slid deeper. Long and strong, exactly like him, his tongue curled about hers. He drove the kiss slowly to new heights, alternately assertive then teasing. Sam put a hand on the leather of his jacket and shortly found herself gripping a handful. She'd mostly lost track of everything but her lips when he finally drew back.

"You cold?"

Before Sam could respond in the negative--she wasn't shivering from the temperature--Marco stripped off his jacket and placed it over her. The soft leather enveloped Sam in Marco's residual warmth and smell. Why were the men of Ballister College so intent on handing over their clothing?

Marco settled back in his seat, and Sam wondered why he wasn't kissing her. That had been really nice. Then, his hand slid onto her thigh. Sam stared at the huge appendage in shock, as if a large, heavy-boned bird had landed on her leg. Marco caressed her thigh, then slowly moved his hand higher, tucking his arm beneath the leather jacket. Sam looked over at him questioningly. He gazed at the movie screen, then turned to give her a moment's smile. His expression was somehow both coy and challenging. Are you going to stop me, it said; are you going to leave?

Sam's heart pounded as Marco's fingers traced higher, caressing her inner thigh. She knew his destination. Marco was going to skip second base and head straight to third. His warm hand slid over her denim-clad crotch, cupping her. Sam sucked in a sharp breath. For several long moments, as bare-chested surfers wrestled on screen, Marco kept his hand in place. Sam didn't know what to do. She was warm and horny, and Marco was more attractive than a movie star. Her crotch grew warm, too, and not only from the presence of Marco's hand. She shouldn't let him do this, not here. She shouldn't do this with someone she barely knew.

But she wanted him to touch her, and that was what his stationary hand was asking. She could push it away...or she could ask for more.

Sam bucked her hips into Marco's hand. He responded immediately, squeezing her crotch possessively, his hand flexing about her mound. Sam nearly wailed in delighted desperation. He did it again, holding her, gripping her, showing her. She knew he was strong, but to feel it...that was something else. Her pussy actually gushed in response. It had never done that before. She'd never before soaked her panties like this.

Marco deftly undid the button of her jeans and slid his hand under the fabric. Sam squirmed at the skin-to-skin contact. Then, he was there. He teased her labia with two fingers. Sam pressed her lips together to keep from shouting for joy. On screen two women rode a jet ski past a giant wave. Between her legs, a thick male finger slid like a surfboard between the waves of her labia to dip into her wet vagina. Sam shoved the knuckle of her forefinger between her teeth and bit down. Marco didn't penetrate her deeply. He spun his finger almost lazily, just inside her pussy, caressing softly. Soft flashes of sensation emanated from her core.

Sam bucked, trying to get more of his finger inside her, but Marco withdrew, toying with her. A soft moan of desire and frustration broke from Sam's lips. By sheer luck a wave crashed on screen covering the sound. Sam looked at Marco. His eyes were forward, but there was a smug and knowing smile on his lips. Sam clamped her hand over Marco's much larger one. She tried to press his finger deeper--she needed more friction--but he was way too strong. Muscles tightened throughout her body; the tension was unbearable. His touch remained light and teasing.

A wild, desperate yearning grew in Sam's breast. She had never wanted something like this from anyone. Now that she wanted, she wasn't getting. Anger followed the yearning. If he wouldn't give her what she wanted, he should move his hand. She could do it herself. She dropped her hand from her mouth and tucked it beneath the jacket. She gripped Marco's thick forearm in both hands and tugged.

His arm didn't move. Instead, his thumb came down on her clit and his finger slid deeper to rub exactly the right spot. Sam's eyes widened and her breath caught as a tsunami of bliss crashed over her. She had only enough time to raise her hand to cover her mouth before the wave took her. Luckily, the movie had also revved up the action. The roar of a riotous ocean filled Sam's ears as an astounding orgasm churned through her, setting her limbs trembling, her hips bucking, and her breath juddering. She whimpered behind her hand as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.